


Golden Yellow Dice

by Val_Creative



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alien Flora & Fauna, Alternate Canon, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Ben Solo is a Mess, Dream Sex, Incest, M/M, Memories, Movie: Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, Pining, Romantic Fluff, Rough Sex To Starve Off Violent Urges, Roughness, Sexual Content, Sexual Fantasy, Shame about Sexual Desires, Virgin Ben Solo, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:07:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22439248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: "Shh," Han Solo whispers, mouthing over Ben's temple as his son quivers and rages deep inside. "I know."
Relationships: Ben Solo | Kylo Ren/Han Solo
Comments: 11
Kudos: 29
Collections: Writing Rainbow Yellow





	Golden Yellow Dice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [indigo_inks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigo_inks/gifts).



*

Nothing more than a memory.

Ben knows they're not physically present in the floating skygardens of Hanna City, but all the same — he bathes in the illumination of towering lights from Chandrila's grand promenade. Starbursts of iridescent, ever-changing color so lurid and opaline.

Delicate.

Delicate fetters of brilliance, yellowing into thin strands and cascading around them in showers of dust.

Han Solo is nothing more than a memory here.

He goes among the rows of Alderaanian flame-roses and vormur wildflowers and honeyblossoms, shuffling in his old age. A dreamscape. A thing born of yearning and familiarity, and Ben denied himself that knowledge for years. The most he ever felt himself was while in his father's arms. Han Solo would cradle him as an infant, soothing his temper tantrums, banishing the apprehension and restlessness from Ben's sleep.

Leia Organa could not do this. 

There's a scent of lyris, powerful and dizzyingly warm, coaxing Ben to relax out of tension. "You refused to let anyone hold them," Han Solo tells him, eyeing the pair of aurodium-plated gold dice in Ben's open hand. Its symbols carved and worn.

(Ben isn't too sure he's not a memory himself.)

"Because they were yours," he mumbles, avoiding Han Solo's gentle, solemn look. Ben's voice raspy-dark, thundering a low pitch that rumbles in his veins and blood. Every word churns thick in emotion. "I _wanted_ to be yours, Dad."

"You always were."

" _No_ —" The growling-savage noise of Kylo Ren escapes him, flashing inside Ben's chest, melding his fear and love. " _No_ —you were mine," Ben declares, clutching into Han Solo's shirt, drawing up to his full height and hissing. "You're _mine_."

A chuckle heats against Ben's mouth. 

Han Solo, sly and proud, unfazed when his son knocks their lips together. 

Ben kisses him with deadly, dangerous intent, pressing his tongue over Han Solo's lips, flattening it.

Everything's _hot_ in sensation.

So different from the icy cold rains of Kef Bir. How ocean waves slammed and sprayed frothing white waters and mist over him. Drenching him. Ben feels drenched through in perspiration, wetting his black, woven collar and the material. 

He uses his other hand (not grasping his father's shirt for dear life, the golden yellow dice shimmering against the backdrop of Chandrila's spotlights) to guide Han Solo's fingers down against his robes. They feel up Ben's cock now stiffened and straining in his underclothes.

Nobody's ever touched him. Ben didn't want anyone but him.

" _Shh_ ," Han Solo whispers, mouthing over Ben's temple as his son quivers and rages deep inside. " _I know_."

*


End file.
